Where the Wild Things Are
by Keywee
Summary: Sequel to, "The House that Jack Built". For The Joker the asylum is home, a safe place where dark memories are far away. But, when ghosts from his past haunt his present, he can't help but open doors on dreadful things that he thought had been locked away... forever.
1. Chapter 1: Beyond the Sea

**Authors Note:** Well, hello all! So here it is! The sequel to, The House that Jack Built.  Originally, this story was going to be titled Folie à deux, but I decided that I wanted to stick with the children's book title theme. I would like to start by saying a gigantic thank you to all of you who read, reviewed, favorited, and alerted The House that Jack Built. You are amazing and thank you as always! I hope you enjoy this story just as much! Thanks again!

**Disclaimer: **Characters from the Batman universe are owned by DC Comics, original characters are owned by me.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Beyond the Sea**

**And when he came to the place where the wild things are, they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws**…

**-****Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are**

Gwen Importico hated the water. Her loath reached much farther than simple large bodies of water, even tiny beads of rain would make her stomach twist into knots and her knees wobble in fear. So, when she received the call informing her that she would be allowed access to the island, but would have to travel to it by ferryboat, she seriously considered scraping her entire story and tucking her tail between her legs like a coward.

Her phobia began as a child, when she and her parents would travel through the Gotham Tunnel to reach their home on the other side of the river. She would enter the hollow space with wide eyes and a thudding heart as her mind would race with the knowledge that it was only iron walls that held back the river's deadly waters. Her breath would catch in her chest as she noticed little wet droplets coming from the riveted support rings. "Oh, that's normal Gwen-y," her father would always say with a tiny chuckle as her panic grew.

His boisterous assurance in the integrity of that manmade structure didn't save her father when one of the city's madmen set a charge within the tunnel that blew out its supports and trapped hundreds of people inside. He drowned… drowned like a rat with all the others just trying to make their way home as the water slowly seeped in and there was no escape.

She _**hated**_ water.

And, now, as she stood clutching a bathroom sink on a ferry, designed to carry the criminally insane, destined for Arkham Island she felt like screaming. She looked up into a mirror mounted above the sink that had been eroded by years of salty sea air, and took in her pitiful, sallow countenance. This must have done wonders for her credibility. She had spent months trying to petition the powers that be upon the island to allow her access, and now this, a bout of seasickness… or sea- anxiety… or terror. She hadn't earned any friends in the asylum when she published her five page exposé in The Gotham Tattler, six months ago, linking Gotham's most notorious offender to its most tragic. The article was entitled:

**A **_**Committed**_** Marriage: Seven Years inside the Asylum**

She made sure to include the Willis family interview in its entirety, along with an in-depth analysis of the timeline of the Joker's life and that of Jeannie Napier. When it was all laid out on paper, the coincidences didn't seem so impossible. The Ace Chemical/ Red Hood robbery took place the same day Jeannie killed her children. The Joker made his debut upon the city three weeks later. Within the article was a photograph of Jack Napier side-by-side with one of The Joker. The likeness was undeniable. The line of their jaw, their angular, sharp features… it was all the same.

But, for Miss Importico deeming The Joker and Jack Napier one in the same was not enough. She had to push it a little further and damn the asylum for not making the connection between its patients sooner. How many lives could have been saved if someone would have put his past in front of his face? Could it have slowed him down? Cured him? She then continued on her campaign by using a former guard, who'd been fired for taking bribes from patients, as a source to backup claims of patient abuse and neglect, malpractice, and unfit living conditions.

"Are you just a disgruntled former employee, seeking revenge?" She asked while sliding him a twenty dollar bill for his troubles.

He took it between his fingertips, rubbed his skin over the president's face, then shoved it in his pocket. "Course not. Had I not been worried about my job, I would've reported the shitty conditions a long time ago."

While within Arkham's staff she might have gained no favor, she sure did amongst her peers. The day her article was published, The Gotham Tattler sold a record number of issues. Within a week she was offered a position at The Gotham Gazette and she was cleaning out her 'rag-mag' office and moving to a cubicle-which at least had a view- in a high-rise office building downtown.

Her first day, before the morning sun could even think about burning the fog away, her new editor stepped in front of her, put a fat hand full of sausage like fingers atop her shoulder and said, "We want you to expand upon that Joker story… make it happen."

She then began a crusade to get on the island. She even offered to print a full retraction and apology if they allowed her within Arkham's walls and evidenced that their patients were in the best possible hands. But, it proved to be futile, as every time she made a request it fell on deaf ears. "But, it is a matter of public record and safety," she would demand, "the people of Gotham have a right to know!" And, she would always be met with the same overly rehearsed monologue. "That would be true if these patients were considered inmates… but they are not… they are patients, and as such they have a right to privacy. This is a hospital ma'am."

But, just as she was about to give up and except that her fate would be taking her back to The Gotham Tattler, she received a late night phone call from a doctor…but, not just any doctor… Jeannie Napier's doctor, Charles Bartlett. He had scoured over her article many, many, many times and was initially enraged and insulted by the _false_ allegations of patient abuse, but after letting it sink in on him for a while, her theory hit him in the gut like a sucker-punch from God. What if these two men were indeed one? What if the Joker and his patient were man and wife? What would that mean for their prognoses? What would that mean for the prognosis of the city?

Probably nothing…

But, could it be a stone left unturned?

Of course not.

So, he promised to get Gwen on the island… somehow… and after months, upon months of waiting, he made good on his guarantees.

And, that is what brought her here, staring at her reflections and wiping a heavy gleam of nervous sweat from her brow. She cleared her throat, rubbed her eyes, and pushed her hair back over her ears. "Get it together," she said to her reflection, then with purpose reached for the doorknob and pulled it open in defiance, refusing to look out the windows at the waves lapping against the hull of boat.

Everything on the patient transport ferry was barren and stripped of every creature comfort. Flat metal benches sat in rows, like church pews, with shackles riveted to the floor. In the corners were piles of folded straight-jackets, just in case one of the new admissions became unruly on their voyage across the Gotham Bay. They could call it a hospital, but who were they kidding? What hospital brought its patients in by boat with their ankles and wrists in restraints?

She tried to look poised as she strolled through the rows of benches, stepping over piles of chains as she went. He had been sitting close to the door when she excused herself to the restroom, but now he was standing in the most unholy of spots… at least from her perspective.

There he was standing at the bow of the boat, leaning over the far too flimsy rail, with a cigarette hanging from his lips. She curled her nose and made a dissatisfied grunt as she realized that this meant that not only would she have to brave looking at the water full on, but also appear that it didn't bother her. She couldn't have a psychiatrist psychoanalyzing her fears. No shrink was going to get that close.

"Remind me again why we couldn't just cross the bridge from the mainland?" She asked wrapping her coat around herself a little tighter, as she pushed opened the heavy, swinging door that separated the innards of the ferry from its narrow deck.

He turned a little to get a look at her, then flicked his cigarette from his fingers into the sea. "I thought it would be a little more enlightening for you. When Jeannie was brought over, seven years ago, the asylum was just reopening- she was one of our first inmates." He coughed, then corrected himself. "Patients… I meant. Anyway, the connecting bridge hadn't been fully constructed yet. She was brought over on this ferry."

"I think I could have just imagined what it was like for her," she said, taking the rail in hand and grasping it so tightly that her fingers blanched.

Half of a smile crept up one side of his face. "You prone to seasickness?"

"I guess you could say that."

"Don't worry… you will get your sea legs quickly on the island."

She furrowed her brow and shrugged. "It's stable ground."

He gave a little chuckle and glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "You'll find out quickly, that isn't always the case."

The hard, mounding shape of the island was beginning to reveal itself through the foggy bay skies. It started as an ambiguous blob, but now its white rock cliffs and heavy evergreen vegetation was creeping into their line of vision in a fashion that was so menacing it sent a wave of dread wrapping around Gwen's spine.

"It doesn't look so far away if you are looking at it from the docks," Gwen noted as a wave hit the front of the hull and made the boat drift upward, high enough for the spirals and watch towers to peek up above the tops of the trees.

"Nope," Dr. Bartlett said curtly then began to dig into his coat pocket. He pulled from it a small name badge attached to a silver metal clip. "So, this is the only way I could get you in. It's unorthodox and I would lose my job if anyone found out, but you are no longer Gwen Importico- Journalist. While you are on Arkham Island you are Dr. Gwen Foster. You are a fifth year psychiatric medical resident at Gotham General Hospital and you are interested in furthering your education on women who commit filicide. Hence why you are shadowing me and are especially interested in Mrs. Napier."

She took the badge from his hand and held it between her fingers like a playing card. The word **temporary **was scrolled across the top in big red letters that would be hard to miss. "What if someone contacts the hospital… you know for a reference?"

"I have someone on the inside who can cover us there. Just keep that badge at eyelevel and no one should question you."

"Thank you," she said awkwardly as she clipped it to the collar of her shirt. He had done enough already for her, but she couldn't help but ask a little more. "So, you said that you will let me sit in on your sessions with Jeannie. But… but, is there any chance I might get to speak with… with him?

"He isn't my patient." He gave her a tiny tilt of his head then wrinkled his brow in a way that made him look decades past his thirty years. "But his doctor, Dr. Lester Pherson, is on our side… he's in on it. I doubt he will let you in on a session, but he may let you look at a transcript or two… and I emphasize might."

"How many people know that I am really a reporter and not a doctor?"

"Dr. Pherson, myself, and a nurse… Cheryl McNeil. She knows Joker well… they are almost chummy. I know she will give you some insight." He pocketed both of his hands and his shoulders rose a bit to protect his neck from the cold. "Since I and the others are risking our careers for you, I must ask… why so interested? Is it simply for your job? The first article was pretty astute? Why not drop it while you are ahead?"

She felt her legs get a little rickety again as she looked over the water, so she turned her back and supported all of her weight against the railing. "I will admit that there is a part of it that is about keeping my job. At first, it just seemed like a good story that would sell papers. But..." She hesitated as the cold wind cut through her and made her teeth chatter. "While I was researching Jeannie and her case, I got to know her a bit. Jane Willis showed me pictures of the Napiers at a birthday party. I saw her children… I saw her husband…I saw her. There was a light in her face. She was happy and hopeful, then somewhere she took a hard turn and the light went out. Just a month later she strangled her children and her husband went missing. Jane Willis emphasized to me over and over again that Jack adored his wife and children. A man who loves his family like that wouldn't just leave them for an old girlfriend. He wouldn't miss the funerals of his children or the trial of his wife." She crossed her arms over her chest and braced herself as another wave hit the boat and drops of the sea rained down over them. "I spoke to Jack Napier's high school girlfriend. Her name is Marybeth Burkett-Ross and she has been married to the same man for ten years. She says she hasn't seen Jack since the Aunt, who raised him, died. Then, I spoke to Jack's sister. She was curt to say the least, but when I mentioned the coincidences between her brother's disappearance and Joker's emergence, she didn't deny the possibility. She didn't like it, but she didn't say it was impossible either. She seemed almost relieved… like it gave her closure. So, to answer your question, I guess I just want to know why. I want to know why she killed her children. I want to know why her husband disappeared. I want to know why the Joker does what he does."

"If you are hoping to find that out in the short time you will be with us, then you are wasting your time. There have been gaggles of trained professionals try to figure him out and it has never worked. He is simply impenetrable."

"Maybe you haven't had the right ammunition." She then raised one eyebrow. "I might pose the same question to you. Why are you so interested? Young doctor, just hitting your stride in your career, and you're sneaking a reporter onto Arkham Island under the guise of a medical resident. Not to mention after medical school you left this dump of a city for Texas, only to leave an extremely successful case to come back just to work with Jeannie Napier… there must be something… some good reason."

"Well somebody has done their homework, haven't they? A little stalker-ish if you ask me." He laughed then pushed back from the rail as he noted for the first time just how differently she looked now from their first meeting months and months ago. Her hair had grown to just below her shoulders and she traded its mousy brown for blonde. She had lost her bulky glasses and wore nice clothing that was befitting of her new job… not the bargain brand, discount junk that she had worn the day he found her on his doorstep begging him to give her an interview.

"I have… and you haven't answered me."

"My father treated her," he started with a defeated sigh," before the murders. Jeannie was seeing him because she was hearing voices. When she was on trial, the defense called him in to back up her insanity plea. He sat up on the stand spilling it all. He spoke of the guilt he felt; he didn't see it coming. He thought she was getting better and he knew that he could have stopped it and saved three children's lives." Dr. Bartlett then straightened his tie, not that it was askew, but as more of a nervous tick. "Anyway, his testimony was heavily publicized and three days after he took the stand, a cleaning lady found his dead body inside his office. Someone had strangled him… _strangled_." He repeated himself for emphasis. "The police said it was probably random at first, but then while detectives were searching the scene, they found a joker card in a corner behind a bookcase. My father wasn't a card player so there was no reason for it to be there. It was as if it mindlessly fell out of the pocket of whoever killed him and drifted under a piece of furniture. Eventually, Joker got the blame for it. He had only been around for a few months then, so I just assumed that he chose my father because his name had been in the news… maybe he was cutting his teeth, y'know… trying new things. I never made the connection before, and I could kick myself that I didn't. In short, I guess I just want to know why, too. I want to know if my father was simply unlucky or if there was something to it."

"Find a purpose?"

"Exactly!" His chest broadened as he took in a deep breath. "There has to be a reason."

Just then the horns from the ferry's wheelhouse sounded with a deafening enthusiasm as the dock came into view. The two stood in silence with squinted, thoughtful eyes until the boat's hull clanked and bumped against wooden planks, and they were given the all clear to go to land.

There seemed to be an overwhelming amount of orderlies milling around the dock and bouncing up and down on their toes as they awaited the boat full of loons. And, one by one their faces would fill with an odd mixture of both sadness and relief as they realized that no new admissions would be making their way to the island today- at least not by ferry.

"Hey, Doc B!" A large, booming voice laced with a Cape Cod accent came from an incongruently small man in a blue guard uniform. "They are saying over the radio that a nor'easter is coming our way. Supposed to hit sometime during the next three days. Must be true, since all of the shit in the bay is starting to wash up on our shore." The guard pointed his dainty finger toward the beach below the dock. "I told the boys to keep their eyes open for any fucking stiffs…oh… sorry ma'am…I usually don't speak like that in mixed company."

Gwen held up her hand and gave him a don't-worry-about-it smile. The beach did look like a dead body might very well be lying on its sand. It seemed to have been lashed by the sea in recent nights; it was strewn with shells and driftwood and dead fish. She noticed trash that must have blown in from the inner harbor- sodden wads of paper, tin cans, heaps of fishing line, and a single shoe that could have very well come from a sunken body, fastened amongst a few dock timbers. Her sights then moved to the trees, mostly pines with a few hardwood oaks and maples mixed in. Each looked thin and haggard, and she could see some buildings through the gaps, sitting at the top of the rise.

Her father, who'd loved looking for shells on the beach, probably would have enjoyed this place, but Gwen could only feel the constant sweep of the ocean breeze blowing her hair in front of her face, as if it were warning her that like the sea, this place could pounce at will and suck you down to the bottom.

"Gwen, this is Officer Bradford Mullins, our head of security. Officer Mullins… this is Gwen Im-" Dr. Bartlett cleared his throat. "This is Dr. Gwen Foster; the Psychiatric Resident that I told you would be shadowing me."

Officer Mullins seemed to grow a foot taller as he realized that he would get to recite his well-timed, perfectly thorough speech that he gave to everyone who stepped upon his island that wouldn't be going into a padded cell.

"Good to meet you, Dr. Foster." He started as he began to lead them up a well-worn path, trodden bare by countless prisoners… or patients, rather. "Let me first start by welcoming you to Arkham Island. This is a maximum security institution for the criminally insane. There is no other facility like this in the United States. We take all patients that other establishments either won't or are not equipped to accommodate. We operate under dual governing bodies- one from the Gotham Department of Mental Health, the other from the Federal Department of Prisons."

"So, you are a prison, then?" Gwen said to Dr. Bartlett with raised eyebrows. Hadn't she been kept from this place because its patients had the right to privacy- just like within any other hospital?

He again straightened his tie and gave her a sideways glance. "We like to think of ourselves as a mental health facility first. We only have to operate under the FDP's regulations because our patients have committed crimes stemming from their insanity."

They continued up a path that rose gently through the heavy stand of trees. Gwen could just imagine what wild animals must have prowled within those woods, and she felt her stomach twist a bit as she realized she would probably be safer with the animals than with the supposed human beings that called this island home. When they'd cleared the trees, they reached a paved road that was thin, steep, and bordered by an uncontrolled amount of sea grass before the land softened around them, leveling out as the grass grew shorter and gave way to a more customary lawn that spread back for several hundred feet before coming to a stop at a wall of cold, grey stone that seemed to fade away over the length of the island. It was at least ten feet tall and topped with a never ending spiral of razor wire. The hair on Gwen's arms stood up as she took in the sight of the wire. It got to her more than she'd expected, and for a split second she felt a bit of pity for all of those people on the other side of that monstrous wall. This island, and those wild animals, and the thick forest, and the wall covered in wire designed to rip them to shreds must have made them realize, day in and day out, just how badly the world wanted to keep them inside and locked away.

Officer Mullins led them to a gate that jutted several feet into the asylum ground that was guarded by two hulking figures holding assault rifles. He then spun around on one foot and fixed Gwen with a here-comes-the-serious-part glare. "You will be given all the pleasantries we have to offer; all the help we can give during your time here. However, you will be expected to abide and adhere to every rule and regulation we have set standard." The gate made a shrill buzzing noise as he pushed it open and led them onto a white concrete path that stretched before them like a grin. "Dr. Bartlett and Dr. Pherson will explain the finer points of protocol to you, but I have to stress the following guidelines: unmonitored contact with patients of this institution is banned, until you have been given permission by the head psychiatric doctor- Dr. Pherson, the head medical facility doctor- Dr. Langham, Warden Sharp, myself, and the board of trustees. We have had bad experiences with new doctors jumping in too hastily with patients who were above their skill set. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"The two buildings behind me and to the left are called Arkham East. This consists of the Arkham Mansion where our doctors' offices, staff quarters, and administrative offices are located and where you will be spending the majority of your time. Behind that is the botanical gardens building, which is used for recreational time for some of our patients. To my right you will find Arkham West. Within it are the Medical Facility and the Penitentiary. The Medical Facility is self-explanatory, but the Penitentiary is where we house some of our more deranged patients. Usually the patients who don't even realize they are in this world."

Dr. Bartlett coughed and spoke under his breath, "that is where Jeannie is kept."

"Directly behind me," Mullins continued, "is Arkham North- Intensive Treatment. Admittance to Intensive treatment is strictly forbidden without the written consent and physical presence of Dr. Pherson, Warden Sharp, and a security guard assigned to your person. The patients inside are unspeakably dangerous to the staff, both physically and mentally. There are a few within its walls that will eat you up and spit you out. You don't want them inside your head. So, if we even hear of you trying to enter the building or making contact with one of the patients inside you will be immediately dismissed from the island and not allowed back. Do you understand?"

Gwen almost let out a 'yes, sir', but stopped with a simple nod and a, "yes," as she debated whether coming to Arkham Island was a prudent idea or not. The patients were dangerous of course… she knew that, but there was something about standing so close to them that you were feeling the same wind across your skin and breathing the same air, that made her feel like crying out in panic. It made her feel like she wasn't that far from being one of them.

They were no longer monsters hiding under the bed.

"Good," said Mullins as his eyes softened. "I know it sounds harsh, but it is for your own protection. These kooks," he gave a worried glance to Bartlett, who didn't approve of anything derogatory being said about the patients, then continued, "will kill ya… then start having their fun with ya."

"I understand."

"Well, then… I believe that Doc B will be taking you to the Mansion, right Doc?"

Bartlett gave a slight nod then grabbed for Gwen's elbow and began to pull her a little too forcefully across the path to the imposing, gothic structure of Arkham Mansion. "Don't mind Officer Mullin's intensity… he takes his job very seriously."

"That's hard to imagine since there are so many escapes and riots… shouldn't something be done about security?"

"Well," he started as his grip tightened, "these patients will humble you quickly. They can slither away before you realize it."

As they walked the number of patients milling about the grounds was astounding. They were everywhere. Each clad in drab grey uniforms with their identification number across their left breast pocket and the Asylum emblem over the right. Some had leather straps around their waists that secured four steel chains: two for the wrists; two for the ankles- something to slow them down if they tried to run or became violent. They moved about as if they were strolling around a front yard of a house, doing mundane yard work; pulling weeds in flower beds, raking up leaves.

"You just let them walk freely like… like they aren't dangerous?" she asked with a deep wrinkle stretching across her brow.

"Some of them, yes." His lips contorted into an odd smirk. "They are confined within the boundaries of the four guard towers of course, and the ones who are more unpredictable are made to wear the four-point restraining belts, but we believe that letting them interact with each other and get fresh air is therapeutic. Do something productive with their hands to give them some self-worth. The ones that work are even paid for their labor; they earn seventy cents a day that is put in an account that they may use in the commissary for whatever they like."

"How nice for them." The sarcasm dripped off of her words in heavy droplets.

"They earn it. We want to promote wellness and autonomy… we want them to be normal…"

Gwen almost tripped as she took the first step onto the mansion's front stairs. "You have to be kidding?"

"I don't joke about my patients."

* * *

They walked into the front lobby of the mansion and were greeted by a statue of Warden Quincy Sharp and two foreboding staircases that reached around the statue like arms. Gwen was struck with how warm it felt… kind of homey, even.

"Nice place… aside from the statue, of course. He is meek, isn't he?" Gwen said with a patronizing snort.

Bartlett coughed to suppress a laugh, then straightened his lips and began to point to various halls. "Down that corridor to the left you will find Warden Sharp's office, a record room, and a library. To your right, you will find the rooms we hold therapy sessions in with some of the patients… and upstairs you will find our various personal offices. And, in the basement there are staff accommodations for when the weather or some other external factor keeps us on the island." He placed his hand on the small of her back. "Let's go upstairs. Dr. Pherson should be in his office now."

For a breath of a moment, Gwen thought of backing out. Meeting Pherson was going into the belly of the beast… it would all be real. But, as she was about to open her mouth and let out the first sign of hesitation, she felt her fortitude well up inside of her and she instead gave a weak nod and began to push forward. "So, tell me about Dr. Pherson. He is new to the island, correct?" she asked as they began to climb.

"Yes, he came here a month before I did. It has been an honor to work with him." Bartlett sounded as if he were speaking about a boyhood idol.

"And, why is that?"

Bartlett cleared his throat and again tugged at his tie. "Dr. Pherson is a genius and a bit of a legend in our field. He wrote his first book on extreme personality disorders when he was twenty-two."

"That's impressive," Gwen said a little sullenly as they approached a massive wire cage that separated the staircase from the second floor offices. It held a rack full of keys and a small girl who looked to be about twenty and very, very bored as she flipped through a magazine and combed out her red hair with her fingers in way that suggested weariness, but had been artfully designed to make any man- especially those who went by doctor- sneak a second glance at her and note the way her weary finger-combing suggested the need for a bed.

"Good afternoon, Katie," Bartlett said giving a peculiar, I-know-it's-wrong-to-flirt-with-you, smile as he crossed his arms over the desk that separated the two.

She looked up, feigning surprise, "Oh, Doc B… I didn't even see you. How was your weekend?"

"Went up state," he started with a sheepish tone, "for my sister's wedding."

Her eyes grew wide. "That was this weekend?! I told you I wanted an invite."

His goofy grin grew wider, then suddenly dropped as he remembered Gwen's presence. "Well… uh… is Dr. Pherson in his office?"

"Just came in." Her eyes flitted to Gwen and narrowed in the standard way women size each other up. "Nurse McNeil is in with him, too."

"Perfect," Bartlett said, putting his hand atop Gwen's shoulder. "Katie this is Dr. Foster. She will be with us for a short time to further her studies."

"How nice," Katie spoke with a flat, forced smile. "Doc B, did you hear about the nor'easter? Sounds like we all are going to be stuck here in the dark together." Her eyes then drifted back to Gwen. "How exciting?"

"How exciting?" Gwen agreed.

* * *

Dr. Lester Pherson was not at all what Gwen expected. She'd expected someone imposing… someone who commanded respect. But, as she sat in front of his heavy wooden desk, adorned with a striking brass nameplate across the front, she felt a bit disappointed. He was short… in fact almost laughably short. He reminded her of a fire hydrant both in stature and pigment. Perhaps he suffered from chronic high blood-pressure; perhaps he was just angry to see the woman who dared to say a withering word about his institution, but his skin seemed to be painted a constant shade of red.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Miss Importico," He said, leaning back in his chair a little too far. "I so enjoyed that enlightening article."

She swallowed down a small ball of nerves. "I'm glad to hear that. I want to say thank you for allowing me on the island…I am to assume that Warden Sharp would not be happy with my presence?"

Pherson made a small sputter, then steepled his fingers in front of his face. "Warden Sharp's feelings are of no consequence to me."

"I thought he ran this place."

"So does he." Pherson allowed a smile to cross his face that was almost viscous in contempt. "Decisions that are pertinent to the patients are up to my discretion and mine alone."

She pulled out a small notepad from her bag and clicked a pen against her thumb. "Then I suppose you are the one I should be posing the questions to."

"Ask away…" His smile dropped a bit and became somewhat warm and inviting.

She scribbled the date atop her paper and the name _Lester Pherson. _"Doctor, I must ask… I've been trying to gain access to Arkham for months and have been denied every time. What's changed? Why am I sitting here now?"

He sat forward a bit and began to fidget with a coffee mug that sat atop his desk. "You can thank Dr. Bartlett for that. Personally, I found your claims to be erroneous to say the least and astonishingly dangerous. But, our young doctor has found some merit in your claims. It would be irresponsible of us not to investigate further."

She too sat forward in her seat. "What are your goals for the patients?"

He looked at her confounded, then crooked his neck back as if to say: _well, isn't it obvious_? "Our goal is to cure them."

She placed the end of her pen in her mouth and let out a long sigh. "Cure them? Isn't that a bit…delusional?"

"Of course not. We've released many patients back into society."

"But, aren't your patients dangerous?"

"Oh, very much so."

"They've killed people?"

"In almost every case, yes."

"And, you've released them back into the city?" Her voice was as shrill as nails raking down a chalkboard.

He nodded as the lines on his face smoothed. "The ones that have been cured and deemed sane."

"With all due respect Doctor… that seems far more dangerous than anything I've published."

He stood and began to circle his desk. "Miss Importico, please. We would never allow someone unsafe back into the city. They have to show a willingness to better themselves. The process is rigorous and very few make it through. But, for the ones who have, their time here was invaluable." He sat on the edge of the desk in front of her. "For example, take Miss Shelby Collins. At age fifteen she suffered a breakdown after being abused by her father. She killed her parents in the middle of the night and stayed with us until the spring of last year. She is now living on the Lower East Side of the city… going to college… working. She is healthy. She is a success story."

"Let me make sure that I have what you are saying clear. The goal for each of the patients in this asylum is sanity?"

"Yes."

"Is that true of… Harvey Dent? Pamela Isley? Harleen Quinzell? The Joker?"

Pherson's contemptuous smile returned. "We must concede that some patients will always be with us. But, we can hope to provide them with a safe place that will be beneficial to their mental statuses, as well as give them a home…provide them a sense of belonging and peace."

"What about the families of their victims… where is their sense peace?"

His shoulders dropped. "We provide counseling services to the victims and families of victims every week."

Gwen nodded. She knew this was true. She remembered her mother getting pamphlets in the mail about family counseling for months after her father died. "Tell me about Jeannie Napier. Is the goal set for her sanity or… a sense of peace?"

Pherson took out a cigarette from his pocket then lazily stuck it between his lips and lit it before answering. "Preferably we would want to cure her and give her a chance for a normal life, but that is looking less and less possible as time progresses."

"Why is that?"

Bartlett took this moment to interject his thoughts. After all, Jeannie was his patient; who knew her better than him? "She isn't responding well to treatment. For the first six years she was kept sedated and left in a cell. When I came here a year ago we began to wean her from the meds." His eyes became wide as he thought of Jeannie's tiny body lying filthy and hapless in the floor of her cell. "We've tried three times and each time has been progressively worse. She begins cooperatively because she has no memory of her crimes. As her memory comes back to her, she becomes increasingly iritic and hazardous…."

"Hazardous? How?"

Bartlett began to nervously wring his hands together. "She normally becomes violent towards herself… and when a staff member tries to intervene… well… she has been known to attack them."

"You speak about her like she is an animal."

Pherson let out a hearty laugh that filled up the space around them. "Oh, she is… an injured one to boot. Don't forget, Miss Importico, she murdered her children… in such a savage way, too."

Bartlett gave Pherson a sideways glance. "She has maimed several staff members. Her best was scratching the eyes out of an orderly." He swallowed hard before he continued. "We have taken a new approach to her. Instead of stopping her meds cold turkey, we are weaning her down in three day intervals…three days on… three off. It's working so far... but we can't be certain for how long. She tends to forget why she is here at first, but as she comes to grips with her crimes, she is coping better. She hasn't tried to hurt herself or anyone else, thus far."

"Why the treatment change?" Gwen asked, jotting a few quick notes down.

"Six months ago we stopped her sedatives rather suddenly. During therapy she freely confessed to killing her children and went into painful detail the process of each murder. Afterwards, she somehow concealed a piece of broken glass in her cell, then tried to slit her throat with it in the middle of the night. She only managed to cut about an inch of her skin before she was stopped… just needed a few stitches… but a guard wasn't so lucky. She cut down the length of his arm. He bled out; almost died." His lips curved into a deep frown. "Dr. Langham, the head of the medical facility, recommended her for a lobotomy to the board of trustees. He feels she is a liability to the facility."

"I thought lobotomies were only performed as a last ditch effort." Her eyes bounced between both men.

Pherson's nose curled and his voice became possessive, as if someone were stepping upon his turf. "They shouldn't be. There is very little therapeutic benefit to the procedure. There has only been a hand full of cases in which the procedure actually worked. Most are left slack jawed and drooling, destined for a life urinating on themselves and bedsores. It is a fast way to get rid of the problem, if you ask me. It should be illegal"

"So," she began as her head tilted quizzically to the side, "extremely dangerous criminals, such as The Joker aren't candidates for lobotomies, but someone like Jeannie Napier, who has been a vegetable for most of her time here, is?"

"The Joker, Two Face, etc., etc., they are well known… if an procedure that should be banned were to be performed on one them it would be known quickly… not that anyone would complain. But, Jeannie Napier… well there hasn't been interest in her for years… not until your article came out. If you weren't to publish what you are working on now, she would soon be forgotten. We could do anything to her and no one would be the wiser."

She sat back and her jaw tipped forward. "I get it now… I'm your playing piece. You feel attacked because decisions are being made about patients without your input… so you have to keep her in the public eye. And, you're doing that through me."

Pherson gave a small shrug. "She has no one to advocate for her."

"Tell me, doctor. If you were brought into the decision making process of Jeannie's treatment and had your ego stroked… would I be sitting here?"

"Again, she has no one to advocate for her. No family… no friends… no Batman. No one to watch out for her well being. Patients like her can very easily go under the radar. They are easy pickings for those without morals who want to shut them up or experiment on them. Do you have a family, Miss Importico?"

Gwen slightly shook her head. "My father is dead… and my mother… well… we don't keep in close contact. And, frankly, I don't know what my family situation has to do with anything. I don't appreciate being used as a pawn."

"You're here and you're getting your story, aren't you?"

She sucked in her cheeks between her teeth. "Yes"

"Are there any more questions?"

It took her a moment, but the heat left her cheeks and she regained her footing. "Patient abuse and neglect? How prevalent is it?"

Pherson's head wobbled from side to side as if he were weighing the options of his answer. "I won't say that it has never happened, but since I came to Arkham it has been considerably less."

Gwen smiled to herself as she caught him in a lie. "Are you telling me that an abortion was not performed on Jeannie Napier eight months ago?"

The color drained from Pherson's face and he took a long drag from his cigarette. "I can't comment on that because I have never heard of such a procedure being performed at this institution." He then made a disgusting, grunting chuckle. "Wouldn't she be the most fertile woman on earth if that were the case?"

"You say that as if it were her fault if she was raped. The former guard, Randall Myers… he attested to it. He told me during our interview that she was being abused by a guard while sedated, became pregnant, and Dr. Langham performed an abortion."

"Randall Myers is a drunk who was fired from this facility because he was taking bribes from patients." Pherson's face regained its red hue. "His word is unreliable at best."

"He said the guard in question kept his job."

"I can promise you that if something so breathtakingly egregious were happening, the guard would be fired and prosecuted."

A sly smile popped onto Gwen's face. "May I see Jeannie's medical record?"

"No. It would violate her privacy."

"And, sitting in on her therapy session won't? Seems like there may be things in that record that you don't want me seeing, Doctor."

Pherson stood and returned to his seat on the opposite side of the desk. "Are you finished, yet?"

"No." Gwen felt a rush of exhilaration pulse through her veins. This is what she learned in journalism school… not tabloid fodder, but actual investigating and reporting. "Joker…I want to sit in on a session with him."

"That won't happen. He is more dangerous than you can possibly comprehend."

"I'll simply be sitti-"

Pherson held up a hand to cut her off. "No. Everyone in this room is risking their careers right now by allowing you to be here. I won't have another Harley Quinn."

At first she thought he was joking. Comparing her to Harley Quinn? She wasn't sure if she should be insulted or frightened. "I'm not Harley Quinn."

"And, neither was she until she met him."

"Can I at least read a transcript from a session?"

Pherson pursed his lips thoughtfully then slowly nodded. "Possibly."

"Speaking of Harley… how is she?"

"Not well." Bartlett cut in. "We haven't been able to remove her from the ventilator."

"Poor girl," Pherson started as he looked down in surprise at the growing ash on the end of his cigarette, as if he'd forgotten he was holding it. "A simple example of how irresponsible your initial article was. If it weren't for you, she would be sitting in a cell planning her reunion with Joker, now she is hanging on to life, only breathing with the help of a machine."

"I could have never known what his reaction would be when he read it. It was never my intent for him to attack her as he did."

Pherson knocked the ash into a nearby tray, and shrugged his shoulders. "Are you almost finished?"

She felt a dusting of guilt settle over her mind, that she quickly brushed away and regained her composure. "Just a few more questions." She said this for Pherson and Bartlett's benefit. It was a tactic she'd learned in school to ease the minds of those who were feeling defensive and beaten down. "Have Joker and Jeannie ever been in close proximity?"

"Yes," Bartlett answered quickly. "It was by accident, of course. The night she tried to slit her throat, she was in the medical facility and he had been captured after his last escape and was quite injured. They were placed in rooms across from each other and he caught sight of her."

"And?"

"And," Pherson spoke up, "we tried to move her away from him and all hell broke loose. He managed to escape his manacles and partially ripped a nursing student's tongue out as she tried to scream for help. It took five orderlies to regain control of him. He is tall, but not very stout… that night though… he was something else…" Pherson's eyes sparkled in a way that let Gwen know that he looked at his patients more as butterflies under a glass, pinned down for his entertainment, than charges left in care.

"How has he been since?"

"Not himself." This came from Nurse Cheryl McNeil, who had been sitting in the corner quietly, taking it all in. "He has been docile. Completely cooperative."

"That's true." Pherson nodded. "He normally never stops talking during his therapy sessions, but lately he has been coming in, sitting down, and acting almost jovial."

"He is even coming to group therapy sessions." Nurse McNeil added.

"Group therapy?" Gwen asked with a skeptical expression painted across her face. "I had no idea he was that social."

"All patients have one-on-one therapy twice a week, but group is offered twice a day." Bartlett said in a hushed, apprehensive voice. "The more they participate, the more privileges they earn."

"Like recreational time, outside?"

"Yes."

"Nurse McNeil," Gwen tilted her head forward and gave a sweet, you-can-trust-me, smile. "When was the last time he participated in group?"

"Last night."

"Anything unusual?"

Nurse McNeil cocked one eyebrow and fixed Gwen with a stare that said she didn't quite know yet if the new _'doctor'_ was friend or foe. "What isn't unusual about him?"

Gwen smiled. "Anything unusual for him?"

"Not really." Nurse McNeil took her cap from her grey head, kneaded it between her fat, wrinkled fingers, then placed it in her lap. "Last night, in group, we were talking about coping strategies for anger. We've had a lot of patients becoming aggressive with one another. Y'know… starting fights… getting into shouting matches. Nothing too out of the ordinary, just an upswing in the behavior… it's probably just the coming storm. Anyway, he came in late, sat down beside me, then picked at a string on the cuff of his uniform for thirty minutes. A couple of patients got into a bit of an argument, and while the orderlies were calming them down, he looked up to me and said, 'It's going to rain. It's not here yet, but it's coming. And… you know what makes me angry? The food around this place… what do you think we can do about that? How can I cope with my anger?' He then gave me a meek smile and went back to picking at the string. He has never liked the food here… complained about it from day one."

Gwen nodded in time with Nurse McNeil's words. "Any other changes in his behavior?"

"Yes," Nurse McNeil's face became almost palpably worried. "He used to stay awake for days… and I mean days. He would sleep for five or ten minutes then be up for three or four days at a time. He has always had pretty bad nightmares; says he doesn't like to sleep. He was always moving, too. Rocking back and forth; pacing the length of his cell… that kind of thing. But, now… now he sleeps all the time. Most of the day, really. Then when he is awake, he is quiet. He is either sitting in his cell or in the common room on his ward… he has even ventured out onto the lawn a few times. Never even offers to give us a fight when we put the restraining belt on him."

"You seem worried."

"I am."

"Why? Isn't that what Gotham needs… Joker subdued?"

Nurse McNeil took in a quick breath. "That's just it. He's not subdued at all… just dormant…hibernating. You see, he is a liar… he lies to us… he lies to himself, always has. His lies keep him alive. Everything is a game to him and he is quite brilliant in _his_ games. His delusions are conceived on a very delicate but intricate architecture. To sustain the structure, he employs an elaborate narrative thread to his life that is completely fictitious… something dreamt up in his sick mind. He keeps himself going by telling himself lies. The idea is to confuse himself or whoever listens to him in to believing out of sheer exhaustion more than any sense of truth. He does it all subconsciously… that's why he has version after version of back story. He needs something tragic to have happened to him to keep the gravity of his crimes at bay. To hide it from himself… to make him the real victim of it all. Wouldn't any sane person lose their minds too, if something so terrible happened to them? " Her eyes then grew almost panicked. "That's why he has latched on to Mrs. Napier. She has given him something tangible to hold on to. He needs her. But, sooner or later the other memories… the other stories, they are going to start to seep back in. And, he is going to be angry because he will be losing Jeannie again. He will grieve for her again. He will be irate and confused. And when that happens…well… I wouldn't want to be on this island… and if you are smart neither would you."

Gwen puckered her lips. "You seem to care about him."

"He is my friend. I was here the first time they brought him in. I've been here every time. I don't put up with bullshit… especially his. We talk about things…and… and _he is my friend."_

Gwen's face contorted into sheer, morbid amazement and she sat flat backed in her seat as she realized that Nurse McNeil was serious. This old woman who had looked like she could be someone's grandmother, with grey, wiry hair looped in a braid at the back of her head and a brown sweater draped around her shoulders that looked as if it had been knit together on a lazy Sunday, considered that thing…that murderer… that animal to be a friend. "What exactly do you talk about?"

"What do you talk about with your friends?" Nurse McNeil pulled her sweater a little tighter around her as if she were protecting herself from some incoming blow. "We talk about the weather…politics… sports. He likes football… a lot, Pittsburg Steelers to be exact."

Gwen smirked. "How normal… it's almost boring. Anything else?"

"In the last six months he has been talking about _his_ family. He talks about Jeannie all the time… marrying her. He talks about _his_ kids and when they were born."

"Does he talk about finding them dead, too?" Her tone was a little more flippant than she meant for it to be.

"No."

"And, have you reminded him that _his_ family… and _his_ children might not be _his_ at all?"

"No… like I said, the memories will start to come back and when he realizes that _his_ Jeannie might belong to someone else… it will be bad for everyone… especially for whomever points it out to him."

Gwen took down her final note, flipped her notepad closed, and then crossed her arms. "I think I am finished for now."

Bartlett put a hand over hers, not in a flirtatious way, but more to steady her from everything she had heard. "For the rest of the day, I will show you around the island. We are beginning to withhold Jeannie's sedatives today, so she will be having her first session tomorrow… you still up to it?"

Gwen bit her lips so hard that she felt her flesh begin to tear. "No turning back now."

Just then a gust of wind slammed a tree branch against the window and a few fat droplets of rain began to spit against the glass. Pherson looked over his shoulder then gave a horrible toothy grin. "Looks like the storm is hitting a bit early. I hope you brought your bags, Miss Importico, as Dr. Bartlett instructed. With as bad as this one looks… _you might be here awhile_."

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**Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2: Dream a Little Dream of Me

**Hello all! I hope all of you wonderful people are doing fantastic! I would like to begin by saying a huge thank you to everyone who has read, alert-ed and favorite-d so far! And, an extra special thank you to FFP and Anonymous Rex for taking the time to review! The motivation is greatly appreciated! I would also like to thank EthanFlux for taking a look at some of these chapters and giving me the confidence to continue! As you asked, Anonymous Rex, yes, this story will take a few cues from existing Batman stories, but I am going to try to hide them a little more than I did in the previous story. I love throwing little things in there that not everyone will see! So, keep your eyes open!**

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**Chapter 2: Dream a Little Dream of Me**

It was the worst dream he'd ever had. It started rather easily… almost enjoyable, really. He even felt himself smiling a genuine smile in his sleep. He was in the town that he'd grown up in… or at least thought he grew up in. It was all so tragically boring. Brown, dusty old store fronts, chipped sidewalks, rust covered gas pumps… a few streetlamps swaying in the breeze. There was his old school house and the convenience store that he'd bought bubblegum and comic books at when he was a kid… as a teenager he'd also bought cigarettes and a box of condoms that he never had the chance to use. The homes of his childhood friends stood around him, too. The Tops house, the Murrays, the Burketts, the Heralds, the Farrells. But, no one was home.

He was walking…and walking…and walking… but going nowhere.

There was Lucky's Diner on his right, where he'd spent night after night of his adolescence, flirting with waitresses and skipping out on his bill. He could see the church that his mother's funeral had been held in up ahead of him, and off to its side, the house that his Aunt had raised him in, and to its side the house that he lived in with his parents. The old tire swing still lay against a tree in the front yard, with a gnarled, thready, time-worn rope hanging limply from its top.

That wasn't right…

These places weren't this close to each other… certainly not next door.

Everything was so familiar, yet so out of place. It was as if all of his memories had been picked up and placed carefully on this street where he could see them all, but not reach them. To his left there was The Rowbee Theater, with its marquee lights dimly pulsating as they hung on to their last bits of life. His lips began to tingle as he remembered giving Marybeth Burkett her first kiss in the upper balcony when they were fourteen years old. Oh, how nervous he had been, but how good it felt.

He ran his fingers over his mouth in an attempt to trap the feeling before it faded from his memory. He wanted it to be close, so he could pull it up whenever he needed. As he dropped his hand back to his side he saw something completely unexpected; completely shocking. The pale pallor of death had left his skin and his hands were pink and healthy looking with blue veins popping out around his boney knuckles.

What was this?

He lifted them to his eye line and he felt like crying… whether that was out of happiness or sadness, he wasn't sure. Suddenly his feet gained traction and he was able to move. He rushed to the pane glass window of Lucky's Diner and stared at his weak, foggy reflection as the first ambiguous tears began to fall.

There was no misfit…

No freak…

No clown…

But instead, there was a monster looking back at him… his father.

No matter, though. He was, again, normal. Normal, everyday, unexciting Jack Napier. An ordinary, mundane life was not out of the question, now. He could go home… back to Jeannie… back to the kids. He could stand around in his garage and drink beers with his neighbors and complain about leaky pipes and peeling paint.

He just had to get home.

It was then that he noticed beyond the window there were several plates of half-eaten food covering the tables in the diner. He looked around to see cars parked in the street, but no drivers. Nobody was walking the sidewalks or going in and out of stores. The place was completely barren. No one was anywhere. Everything was empty… and dead quiet. He couldn't even hear the clanks from the nearby steel mill, and you could always hear the steel mill in Summitville.

He was absolutely alone. It was terrible- his town, and everyone gone.

Everybody was absent… maybe dead. Long dead and long, long forgotten. Maybe he was dead, too. Maybe he was a ghost, come back through the decades to his ghost town. It wasn't here anymore. He wasn't here any longer. There was no here.

He began to walk, but he wasn't sure why. If everybody was gone, what was the point? His feet wouldn't stop moving, though. He walked past the church, past his homes… on and on until the streets became rutty and full of sodden trash. These were no longer the streets of Small-town, USA…no… these were the streets in the wasteland that was The Bowery. To his dismay he found himself in front of his old building, with its boarded up windows and shrubbery made of full trashcans. Ahead, he could see the double doors leading to The Bowery Tavern…maybe someone would be inside. Maybe the bartender who knew his drink order by heart or the pretty girl he'd kissed in the alley. Hell, at this moment he would have been happy to see any familiar drunk or prostitute. Even a member of the Red Hood Gang would be a welcome sight.

He passed it by and found his way to the docks that were also silent and bare. No ships bobbed in the waters… no waves lapped again the retaining walls...no breeze blew from the ocean. He leaned against an old crate and he waited for someone, anyone to show up. But, no one came. In the distance he could see the spirals of the asylum peeking above the tree line; staring at him. He took a step forward, as he realized that he'd been wrong. Everyone that he'd ever known or loved was not dead… not at all… but they were on that island; in those stone walls. Watching him from within.

They had to be.

He took another step forward as he estimated the distance from the dock to the island. The water was so calm and smooth, almost like a fine layer of glass had been laid across it by the hands of God. Maybe he could walk right across it?

No, that was crazy… and he wasn't crazy.

But, it couldn't have been that far of a swim…could it?

Just as he made up his mind to go into the water, he felt an iron, heavy hand grab onto his shoulder. He wasn't alone anymore… but as he recognized the hand upon his shoulder, he wished he could be.

"I wouldn't go in the water if I were you," his voice spoke back to him. But, it wasn't his voice… not Jack Napier's voice, but rather the voice that he'd been listening to for seven years... the voice of the monster, the beast inside of him...the Joker. "They're in there and waiting to drag you to the bottom."

Jack turned his head just enough to find a gloved hand holding on to his suit and an inch of pasty white wrist glancing out between the hem of the glove and an orange shirt cuff. "They aren't in the water. My family… they are on the island. She's there… I know it."

"Not, our family. All of those poor, pathetic souls _you_ murdered in cold blood. Those that you shot in the dock houses then dumped off the berths, just to be eaten by the bottom dwellers." Joker made a bit of a snorting chuckle. "And to think, people eat what's taken from this Bay. No wonder this city is full of rot… you are what you eat, I suppose."

Jack felt a hefty punch of despair hit him in the chest. "She's over there. On the beach I bet; she liked the beach."

"You're a fool to think that. She isn't there. _They've_ told us that."

"You believe them?" Jack asked, confounded.

"Cheryl McNeil told us that she wasn't there. We trust Cheryl. No, Jeannie has long been in her grave. You killed her. Don't you remember? You pushed **_my_** wife to her death. This is all your fault."

Jack took a step back and looked at his other- self full in the face. "She's not dead though; I saw her. It was her. She looked terrible, but it was her. How am I supposed to go on knowing that she is there?"

"We've been _going on_ for seven years. She'll be gone soon."

"I don't want her to go," Jack started, as his words rattled in his chest. "When does it stop? When do I start feeling normal again? When did you start feeling normal?"

Joker's eyebrows rose and he crossed his index over his middle fingers in a gesture of good luck. "Any day now."

"What do I do?"

The smile crept up the sides of his face and his green eyes had the devil in them. "We have a _new_ one."

"Harley? You strangled her… she might be dead for all I know." There was a bit of disturbance sticking on the back of Jack's words. How callous...how cavalier, as to refer to her as a _new one_.

"If she is, we'll get a new one, _again_." Joker's face seemed to lighten and he gave a small rise and fall of his shoulders. "I don't know why we love her though. Jeannie, that is. She killed _my_ children."

Jack jumped forward, taking the bit of the purple suit in his hands and balling it in his fist. "Those kids aren't yours. They were mine. She is mine. Stop saying **_we_** as if you and I are the same man. We are _not_ the same!"

And, the monster laughed and laughed. Laughed so hard that burning rods of pain shot across his abdomen, and for a moment he worried that he wouldn't be able to catch his breath ever again. He'd never heard anything funnier or more desperate. "If that helps you sleep at night, then, by all means, keep telling yourself that. But, I'm your best friend… I've been with you from the beginning. No one has been more faithful." His eyes then shifted to somewhere behind Jack. "Just get a new one... a place holder."

Jack turned, and there was a blonde woman behind him. She and Jeannie didn't look that much alike. There was a passing resemblance, but nothing earth shattering. She was prettier than Jeannie. Jeannie was without a doubt beautiful, but in a different kind of way... she wouldn't have been everybody's taste. But, this girl was beautiful by anyone's standards. And, Jack suddenly felt very self-conscious. "I...I'm Jack," he said offering her his hand.

She took it and gave it a quizzical arch of her brow, dropped it, then smiled… and it was in that smile that he saw Jeannie. They had the same smile. A smile so vivacious that it traveled up their cheeks and made their blue eyes sparkle in a way that would have put the finest sapphires to shame.

They had the same smile.

"I'm Harley."

"I know that," he said, as he looked back to where _**he'd **_stood to find that it was just the two of them standing on the dock. "I'm sorry for what's happened to you."

Her face reddened and her eyes became hard. So hard that he thought for a moment that she may lunge for him. "I gave up everything for him… and he's leaving me. Leaving me for her. I should have known."

"She's not his to have."

A single, silent tear dropped from her blue eyes and her lips quivered. "He took something from me. He took little pieces of me; little pieces over time. So small that I didn't even notice. He wanted me to be something that I wasn't and I made myself into what he wanted. One day I was me, Harleen Quinzel, and the next I was Harley Quinn…lying for him, and jeopardizing my career, and helping him escape, and wearing a harlequin costume… and agreeing to murder an innocent woman because he wanted to see if I had it in me. And, I wasn't Harleen Quinzelle anymore… I wasn't me. But, even then I would have done anything for him. I would've! I lost myself for a long time… until he was standing over me with his hands around my neck and I was feeling the life drain out of me." She covered her mouth in an attempt to squelch a gasp of pain. "Your hearing is the last thing to go when you're dying. You know that, right? I've been hearing them talking. They say I'm not coming out of this one. _**You **_finally did it."

Jack backed up and shook his head. "That wasn't me… that was him. I had nothing to do with it."

"You're the same man."

"No!" He reached forward and grabbed her shoulders in the way he used to Jeannie when she would become too much to handle.

Again, the smile traveled up her face, and she looked as if every bit of pain, and worry, and heartbreak that she had ever felt poured from her body. "I have a great idea. He's leaving me and you don't know where _she_ is… you be my Joker, my Mr. J… and I'll be your Jeannie. I can be what you want me to be. We will move to a house in the suburbs and get a dog and make new babies… and we'll be so happy."

And, Jack smiled at her as if this was the most brilliant thing he'd ever heard. That seemed like a perfect solution, and he wondered why it had never occurred to him before. "Okay." It was simple, but it was the best he could do as he felt her take his hand and intertwine their fingers.

He closed his eyes as he felt her skin touch his and he was overcome with the knowledge that his new Jeannie's hands had never strangled her own children. When his eyes fluttered open again, she was gone… and he wasn't on the docks anymore.

He found himself in a long hallway with marble floors. Everything smelled clinical and there were wheelchairs and gurneys lining the walls and lots, and lots of people around him. They all wore Arkham Asylum uniforms and they all had red IV bags pouring some kind of toxic solution into their bodies that made their skin fester with infection. Ahead, at the end of the hall, three children crossed in front of him- two girls and one boy. The oldest girl held her younger sister in one arm and clutched her brother's hand in her own. They all wore hospital smocks and they all looked terrified. The girl stopped and looked to her brother and said, "She's here. She's going to find us. We have to get out of here."

As the children ran from his view, he again found his only company, Joker and Harley, on either of his sides. Her hand was once more firmly in his, and he felt nothing but happiness as he looked from her to the creature that had taken him over for seven years. "She's taking me to Jeannie. I'm going home."

There was an odd sense of real happiness that stretched across Joker's face as he took in Jack's words. Something true; something relieving. "That's great," he said, "I'm glad. I'm never getting off this island."

"No?" Jack seemed a bit surprised then his brow furrowed and his grip on Harley's hand tightened. "You probably shouldn't."

Joker shook his head and a deep frown pulled at his lips. "No, but it is okay. It really is. I'll leave from time to time, but I will always come back. I belong here. This is my home."

Jack said, "My home is with Jeannie."

"But, she is Harley."

"She will be Jeannie. You made her into what you wanted her to be… she could be Jeannie."

Joker again shook his head and his shoulders slumped. "We've tried…it didn't work."

"No," Jack disagreed through gritted teeth and dropped Harley's hand. "You tried to make her something she is not. She can be Jeannie, though, if she wants to be… which she does. I could never make her be something she doesn't want to be. I could never do that."

"Where do you think I've been?" Joker's words were low and menacing, and a shiver ran up Jack's spine. "I watched you turn Jeannie into something she wasn't. She didn't want to be a wife, but you pushed her. She didn't want to be a mother, and again you pushed her. Whose hands are those children's blood really on? Hers… or yours?" And, he let out a deep set sigh, that seemed to have been living in his lungs all of his life and storing up for this moment to come out. "But, I'm sure you will find a way to blame me. Everyone blames me…. Oh, but I've forgotten Jack-y…. we're not the same."

"We're not." Jack's stance stayed firm as he turned a bit to find that Harley had walked far ahead of them both. "You're insane… I'm not."

"And, yet, this is all coming from our head. We are searching for a girl that we aren't even sure is real. She murdered her children. What kind of a mother does that?"

Jack felt the sudden urge to defend his wife's honor. Who was this _thing_ to throw an accusatory word at anyone? He was nothing more than a madman, so thirsty for other people's blood. "She didn't mean to. She was just afraid… and crazy at the time."

"Like you?"

Jack's eyes filled with desperation. "No. I mean, yes. Y'know… I don't like you, Joker."

He tilted his head to the side, then shrugged. "I don't like you much, either. But, that doesn't change the fact that we can't love a woman who killed her children."

"You've said that before."

"I still mean it. We can't. That's even too much for me to stomach… and when it comes to insanity I have a bit of an iron gut."

"Maybe you can't, but I can." Jack said, as he began to walk a bit faster. "You just don't understand."

"What don't I understand?"

"I can't be alone. I can't face that. I can't face this world without her. I need her. She's my Jeannie."

Again, there was the laugh that sent a hacksaw tearing across Jack's skull. "She's Harley."

"I know that. But, we've got a deal. She'll be my Jeannie. And, I'll be you. It's a good deal."

"You _are_ me." He clicked his tongue against his teeth as a grotesque smile stretched the full length of face. "And, you say I'm the insane one?"

As the last syllable dripped from the beast's tongue, Jack felt the earth move a bit beneath him. The world around him melted and the sun shined and a warm breeze blew… and he was home. There it was in front of him. His home; the house he built for his family. It looked the same. The front yard needed a good mow and the paint on the door was chipping a bit.

Then he heard the sweetest sound… her voice… her beautiful, contrived voice. But, it wasn't just her voice that made his knees tremble; it was also the heartbreaking, soul-stirring truth that she was calling for their children.

"I want you home before that streetlights are on… do you hear me?" She called from somewhere within the house.

And, he began to run through the overgrown grass, dodging a few toys that his children had carelessly left behind, and up the steps until he reached the front door. As his skin touched the doorknob he felt his heart race, and his head spin, and there was a deafening thud shooting through his ears. He was home. Could this really be? Oh, Jesus, he was home… just inches away from _her._

He opened the door and it smelled the same. There was a warmth that he hadn't felt in years. Something in him that made everything pure and calm. He couldn't leave this place again. He had to stop it. He had to stop her mind from destroying her. Destroying their family. This was his chance to make it right again. He knew this was a dream…he knew it! But, maybe the universe wouldn't be so cruel as to wake him up. He could drift in this warm abyss forever with her. He wouldn't need a substitute… he could have the real thing. Always.

She heard the click of the front door closing and walked to the hall so she could see if someone had actually come into her home, or if the wind had just jiggled the latch. When her eyes met his, the color drained from her face and all of the air choked from her throat. "Where the hell have you been?" There were waves of anger in her eyes. "Jesus, Jack. You've been gone for seven years... and you just show back up…like… like nothin' is wrong. Where the hell have you been?! Answer me!"

But, he couldn't. He couldn't speak. He couldn't find the words…his brain simply wouldn't form a sound. She was so, so beautiful, wearing a flimsy blue dress with her hair falling freely in loose ringlets around her face. She looked just as he remembered her; just as his mind had held on to for years.

"Answer me!" She again demanded.

His jaw tipped forward and all he could manage was a low, guttural breath. He could hear the children playing somewhere close, but he didn't know where they were. He wasn't even sure where his body was. He could see her walking towards him, giving no hint to if she were going to kill him or kiss him, and she could see him, but he couldn't see his physical self… his extremities were gone… he couldn't even feel them. But, he could feel her hands against his chest as she reached for him and pulled his body against hers.

He could feel her!

"Some people told me that you left me. Left me for Marybeth. You didn't, though?"

"Of course not," he said brushing a strand of curly hair from her face. He noted how lucid she looked. There was nothing crazy or worrisome about her. She seemed like any other suburban wife and mother, trying to figure out what to cook for dinner or the best way to cut down on shower mold. "I would never leave you."

This seemed to appease her and she nodded against his chest. "Then others told me you were dead." Something began to fight against the watery-clarity in her eyes. Fear, perhaps. And then it sprouted onto her lips and covered her face.

"No, I'm right here. I've always been right here."

"They told me that Sal killed you. Shot you in the head then cut your body up before he threw you off the docks." She slammed her fists against his chest. "I buried you in my mind. I buried an empty casket because there was nothing left of you, just little chunks of your body that were floating all over the Atlantic. I buried our wedding rings and your dog tags. Your body was cut up and eaten by the sharks."

"Stop, Jeannie," he begged, grabbing for her wrists.

"Like leftover meat you throw to a dog," she said through tears as she tried to jerk away.

"No." He said it more as a plea than as a negation. She was starting to crumble; completely unravel. She couldn't… she just couldn't. His beautiful ballerina was here in front of him, and she was slipping away again. No… this was his second chance. This was a miracle turned on high. He couldn't lose her again.

"They killed my Jack. They killed him." She searched his face and her eyes widened and widened and flicked from side to side in their sockets. "I think I might be dead, too."

"You're not. We're not dead." And he watched as with that simple statement her eyes cleared and she seemed satisfied. He let his thumb run over her cheek and he put his lips to hers. It was a real kiss… a kiss that had been waiting there since he left her that morning. He broke away from her and took a long, meaningful look into her eyes. "Is this real? Are you real? I think it might be a dream… but maybe not."

She shook her head as she started to back away. She seemed to be getting smaller, hazier as if wakefulness were pulling her apart. "You can't stay. He's here. He's still here and always will be."

"Who?"

"Joker… you."

The name crawled through Jack's flesh and climbed over his bones. "No."

"Yes." She turned her back to him and took a step forward as if she were going to walk away. "You've known that."

"We are not the same. This is my home. Not his. You are my wife…"

Her shoulders became stiff and she began to tap her foot. Oh, god, how long had he wanted to see that. "If you won't go, I will."

He reached for her and wrapped his arms around her. "Stay…stay with me, please."

She leaned back into him and let out a soft moan. "Let me go… you have to let go of me. I'm not with you. I'm a corpse, lyin' somewhere in the dirt."

"That's not true. I've seen you. You're alive." He held onto her so tightly that he wondered if he might have broken her tiny body in half. "Please, don't go. I need to hold you just a little longer. Just a little longer, please."

She turned her head up to his and gave him a kiss as a small bubble of sound came from her lips- half sigh, half howl, so torn and beautiful in its anguish. And, she was gone again and he was back on the island, only this time he was standing in front of the penitentiary and the little girl, who he'd seen running in the hallway was sitting on the steps. She wore a bathing suit and her hair was wet.

"Aren't you going to sit down with me, Daddy?" she asked as a sweet, hopeful smile washed over her face.

He cocked his head to the side as he stared at the girl with an odd fascination. It was freezing outside, yet she was dressed for summer. She didn't look cold at all; in fact, there wasn't a single goose bump on her skin. "Aren't you cold? Why are you all wet?"

"I've been playin' in the sprinklers, Daddy. Won't you come sit by me?" She reached a hand towards him to beckon him closer.

He bit down on his the inside of his cheeks as he took a seat next to her and put his arm around her small body. "It's too cold to be playing in the water, Heather. Your mother shouldn't have let you outside."

She looked up to him as a playful giggle came from her throat. "You're silly. It's not cold when you're dead."

He watched as the color of her skin turned to grey and deep black bruises formed around her neck. "You're not dead."

"I am." She nodded. "Why didn't you stop her?"

"I didn't know."

"You did. I told you that she said funny things that scared me. You didn't listen"

"I know… it frightened me so I ignored it. I'm sorry. I'm so,so sorry."

She then stood and moved in front of him. In one fluid motion, she put her cold hands against his face and forced him to look her full on. "Sometimes I hear bugs scratching outside my walls and it scares me. Sullivan hears them too, but I can't help him. Before she did this to us, when we were scared we would run to each other's beds… we can't do that now. We're stuck. Trapped." Her hands then dropped to her sides and she looked up to the sky. "It's goin' to rain. It's not here yet, but it's comin'."

Then she was gone as well, but he wasn't alone. Heather had been replaced by Harley who was pacing back and forth in front of him and holding her head as she wailed. "First he leaves me... now you?!" She screamed into her fists. "And, for the same girl! What does she have?! You have to let her go! I'm your Jeannie now! We promised. We made a deal. She's gone. She's dead!"

He knew she was wrong, but his Jeannie was lost. He stood and grabbed for her hand then pulled her close to him. "Shhh…Shhh. It's all going to be fine." He held on to her as tightly as he could. He couldn't lose her, too. "We still have a deal. Let's get off this island and go home." He draped his arm over her shoulder and gave her a little push as he began to lead her away. But, just as he felt a bit of satisfaction in his choice, he looked up and was stopped dead in his tracks.

He was back. Back again with his evil smile, and evil eyes, and evil soul. But, this time he was not alone. There she was standing next to him; allowing him to wrap his arm around her shoulders… mirroring what Jack was doing with Harley. "We're all happy now, Jack." He laughed. "You have your Jeannie, and I have mine."

Jack took a step forward, leaving Harley behind him, and balling his hands into tight fists as he felt his skin become hot with anger. "You tricked me. You said, she wasn't here. You said I killed her."

"I know I have a trustworthy face." His fingers pressed into Jeannie's skin. "But, you should have known better. You know I'm willing to do anything for a good laugh."

"Jeannie?" Jack's voice was frantic. "You can't go with him… he's bad. He will hurt you."

She didn't look at Jack as she answered. Just turned her eyes up into the face of all things wicked and smiled. "I think he and I are a good fit. A real good one! I think he's what kept us together all of those years. He was always there in you… he is mine and I'm his. We're the same." Finally, she looked to Jack. "You have Harley. She want's what you want. She will be happy to be married to you and have your babies. I bet you two will be happy." She placed her hand against Joker's chest. "We'll be happy."

"You can't love somebody who killed your children!" Jack shouted as a gust of wind from the sea blew a mouth full of salty ocean air around them.

"They were your children, not mine." His eyes grew wide and savage. "Even if they were, I'm insane… you said so yourself." He then placed a swift kiss atop Jeannie's head and took her left hand in his right. Then, in his other, he took hold of the little girl's hand… Jack's little girl… and began to walk away. And, Heather looked back to her father with eyes that screamed that she didn't understand. She continued to bore holes into his soul as they walked up the stairs that lead to Intensive Treatment, her expression was beyond hope of rescue, resigned to this world, this sacrifice, her hair still dripping wet from her day of fun.

* * *

"OH, CHRIST!" He sat up gasping for the air. He felt tears running down his face and he couldn't stop them. He was crying? He didn't cry. His body shook and he grasped for his aching head. Saw blades were running across his brain and pushing at the back of his eyes. He felt that he'd twisted himself awake, torn his body back into consciousness just to get out of that dream. He could feel it in the back of his brain, rattling around and scratching to come back to the surface. Its doors wide open and waiting. All he had to do was close his eyes and tip his head back toward the pillow and he'd be toppled right back into it.

The door of his cell opened and in waddled Cheryl McNeil, flanked by a guard holding a dart gun, ready to pull the trigger if things were to get out of hand. "The orderlies said you were struggling in your sleep. You okay?"

He sat forward, swinging his legs from the side of the bed and leaning forward onto his knees. "I'm always okay….beyond okay, really. Fantastic, I do believe! Don't I look it?"

She sat down beside him and took his hand in hers, and pressed her fingers against his pulse, then looked up to the guard. "His pulse is a little fast for my liking. Get me a blood pressure cuff, please."

"B-but." He looked to her with nervous eyes. "You know I'm supposed to stay with you, Nurse McNeil. You're breaching protocol."

Her lips tugged into a tight line and her face became harsh, as a red hue of anger built up around her neck. She'd been working at this godforsaken place for too long to be lectured to by some kid that thought he knew something because he was given a badge and a gun. "And, the health of our patients is the highest priority. He could be sitting here ready to stroke-out or have a heart attack, and you are preaching to me about protocol… go!"

"But…"

"GO!"

"Fine!" He looked to Joker. "I'll be back in a few seconds. Don't try anything."

He rolled his eye and again grasped onto his forehead. "Times a wasting, kid. I might be dead before you get back."

Nurse McNeil waited until the guard had moved out of earshot, then she pursed her lips and fixed Joker with a glare that only disappointed mother's hold for their children. "You are having some pretty rough nightmares lately. You're going to hurt yourself, thrashing about in your sleep. And, you sleep all the time, anymore."

"I can't help it." He sighed as he buried the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "I'm so, so tired."

"I'm going to have to start restraining you. I have a standing order from Dr. Pherson. I really don't want to, but I can't risk you having more injuries. You need to stay out of the Medical Facility and away from Dr. Langham and Quincy Sharp as much as possible."

His hands dropped and he rubbed his palms against his knees. "You people think I'm corrupt… and you employ them. If it were up to those things, we'd all be lying around here in straightjackets, drooling on ourselves."

"That's why you need to watch yourself. You don't want to end up like that, do you?"

His eyebrows rose at the idea. "I don't know; wouldn't be so bad. Three hots and a cot… and a horse pill that will make it all go away. Maybe they are on to something." He then turned a bit to her and paused as if he were feeling the consistency of the air. "It's going to rain, isn't it?"

She wrapped her sweater around her shoulders. "Big storm coming our way. Weatherman says it's the biggest nor'easter to hit Gotham in fifty years."

"You and the rest of the so-called caretakers on this island are in for a fun time then. All the nuts get a bit… unmanageable… during full moons and big storms."

She nodded. "I'm going to give you a chance at a choice. Let me down and I will make it for you. We are planning on doubling meds when the storm is at its worse. Half of the patients will be frozen in fear; the other half won't be able to stand still.

"It will be anarchy," he gave her his best smile. "And, we both know that just won't do for our dear Docs."

"Exactly," the wrinkles in her face became deeper around her eyes. "I'm willing to pass you by because I don't want you having more unnecessary nightmares. Is that what you want? Me, to pass you by? No extra meds?"

"Yes," he nodded in sheer gratefulness. If he could pluck through his dreams and pick out the ones that left him holding on to his ballerina, then he would gladly drift in a never ending sea of sedation. But, he knew the monsters would be waiting under his bed, ready to pounce just when he got comfortable… and that was not something he would willingly sign up for.

"Then that is what I will do." She stood and positioned herself in front of him as she took on the stance of a hardened military nurse. "You give me an ounce of trouble and your ass will be tied to this bed…lights out."

A sick, half smile crossed one side of his face. "My goodness, Cheryl, I never knew you were in to that type of thing. People can surprise you, though."

"I'm not joking." Her face stayed stern, but amusement played around her eyes. "Do you understand me?!"

"Yes, _ma'am_!" His eyes narrowed. "Or, should I start calling you master?"

"I can see you're feeling better." She put a hand over her hip. "Try to stay awake. I don't want to have to look at your face again today." With that she, turned on one foot and began to leave him behind.

"Cheryl… wait." He sat a little straighter.

"I told you, I'm done looking at your face," she said with a playful smile as she turned back to find that his entire countenance had fallen back into despair.

He looked up to her under his brow with an expression that could only be described as sitting somewhere between embarrassment and misery. "She's here, isn't she? I just need to know. I didn't imagine seeing her. She is here?"

"No." It was a bold faced lie, and she was certain that he knew it. But, she and everyone involved in his care, thought it better for him to be unsure. The possibilities of him actually having the knowledge that Jeannie Napier was merely yards away arrayed from good to indescribably bad. It was a risk that she felt was not hers to take. She would leave that up to someone beyond her pay scale.

"B-but." His voice didn't sound like his own. "I saw her."

"You didn't." She again gave him a motherly smile. "You've had hallucinations before."

"It wasn't the same." As the words were leaving his mouth, the part of his dream that surrounded Jeannie was starting to vanish.

"She's what you are dreaming of?"

"I don't know." That too was a lie. She was now harder to hold on too. The smell of her was evaporating with the ascent of full consciousness. He wondered, and not for the first time, not by a long shot, since the moment he'd seen her lying across the hall from him, if this would be the day that missing her would finally be too much for him. If he could turn back the weeks to that day and grab her and take her from the dreadful place, he would. That was a given. That'd always been a given. But, he'd hoped that again the memory of her would fade and the desperate longing he felt at the pit of his stomach would dissolve. But, as the hours since he last saw her face passed, he missed her more, not less, and his need for her became a seeping wound that would not scar over.

"I'm going to go, now. I'll see you tomorrow. Group is in ten minutes… Nurse Jarred and Dr. Carter are leading tonight. Should be… therapeutic."

As he watched her looking at him, searching for some peace in his face, he wanted to say,_ I held her. I held her as I heard our children playing. And, I could smell her hair and the house in Crown Pointe. The grass needed mowed, and she was angry, but her lips touched mine._

_I held her. Group therapy, and Nurse Jarred, and Dr. Carter… or even you… not anything in this world can give me that. This world can only give me reminders of what I don't have, can never have again… didn't notice I had until it was too late… didn't have long enough._

_Jeannie and I… we were supposed to grow old together. Watch our kids grow and have kids of their own. Take walks under old trees and sit in rocking chairs. I wanted to watch the lines etch themselves into her flesh and know when each and every one appeared. We were supposed to die together._

_Not this…not this. Never this._

_I held her,_ he wanted to say, _and if I knew for certain that all it would take to hold her again and stay with her forever would be to die, then I couldn't raise a gun to my head fast enough._

Cheryl was staring at him, waiting for something.

"I'll think about going," he said resigning himself to the knowledge that no one, not even Cheryl McNeil could understand.

"Good… they let you outside more, the more you participate. You need some sun."

"Yeah, I've been looking a bit pale lately."

She smiled, "Have a good evening.

"And, you as well, Nurse McNeil."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


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